


Half-Shirts and Short Skirts

by SummonerStrife



Category: Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Anger, Angst, BAMF Tifa Lockhart, Drinking, Fights, Gen, Growth, Headcanon, Headcanon Accepted, No Romance, One Shot, Personal Growth, Plothole Fill, Sad, Underage Drinking, Walk Into A Bar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-27
Updated: 2017-06-27
Packaged: 2018-11-19 17:05:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11317842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SummonerStrife/pseuds/SummonerStrife
Summary: A oneshot detailing Tifa's first year working at the original 7th Heaven, and exploring her thoughts and feelings concerning Midgar, its inhabitants, and skimpy clothing. The shy and reserved little Nibelheim girl will have to put her grief on hold while she learns to survive in the dirty metropolis of the Sector 7 slums. This one's all about our favorite bartender.





	Half-Shirts and Short Skirts

Tifa had learned a long time ago that she could use her attractiveness to her advantage.

She didn't necessarily _like_ doing it. As a matter of fact, it usually made her feel extremely uncomfortable and a little bit dirty. After years of living in the filthy slums of Midgar, though, she had adapted. All of the other young, attractive women dressed in cute, skimpy clothes. They were proud to show off their bodies. While Tifa had never been averse to showing skin, she had never really done so to be sexually attractive to other men. Fewer clothes were just more comfortable. When she was a little girl, she had preferred dresses and skirts; her legs had much more freedom of movement than in pants. Plus, she thought they were pretty, and sometimes it made her feel pretty to wear them. Like a princess.

As she grew older, she started donning a "western" style while still living in Nibelheim. It was popular around the more rural areas of the Planet. She didn't watch much TV, but she still saw the commercials for cute cowboy boots and fringe vests. She liked how the other girls looked wearing them, and adopted the style as her own. The half-shirts and short skirts were just a part of the look. And, best of all, they were so _comfortable_. So comfortable and free that she could even perform her martial arts moves in them - though the cowboy boots were a bit clunky to kick in.

It was when she was taken to Midgar that she really started learning what half-shirts and short skirts meant to other men. The city had eaten her alive as soon as she had awaken in the hospital. Zangan was gone, not by her bedside or anywhere nearby, and she was alone, alone in some place that she had never been to before. When she was discharged from the hospital, she didn't know what to do. Her home was gone, and everything she knew and loved had been destroyed, and she had no relatives or contacts in the mega-city. The only person she might have known in the area was a certain blonde-headed boy... And there was no telling where he was or what he was off doing.

Her clothes were tattered and torn, but she dressed in them anyway, settling the familiar cowboy hat on top of her head. She was well now; she just didn't know what to do. Midgar was unbelievably huge, and dirty, and dark, and smelly, and seedy, and _scary_. The young, voluptuous Nibelheim girl didn't fit in at all. The catcalls had started as soon as she had stepped out of the hospital and onto the street.

_ "Oh, look at the cute little cowgirl. Wanna go back to my place and have a rodeo?" _

_ "No, thank you..." _ she had muttered shyly as the gruff man laughed at his own terrible pickup line.

_ "Hey baby, looks like you know how to ride a pony pretty good. I got something else you can ride on, too." _

_ "N-No..." _

_ "Hey there, sweetcheeks. You one of them strippers at The Wild Horse saloon? Can I pay you for a lapdance if you're off the clock?" _

_ "N-No! I'm not a stripper!" _ __ She was walking fast with nowhere to go, her arms clutched protectively around herself. Why was she wearing this stupid outfit anyway? In that moment, she wished she were wearing a baggy, gray jumpsuit. Anything frumpy and unattractive and unnoticeable. But she wondered if that wouldn't even put off the men in this city.

_ "You ain't a stripper? Well damn, girl, you should be! You'd make a pretty penny with that bangin' body of yours. Tell you what..." _ __ The man had grabbed her around the waist, pulling her flush to his side. _"I'll take you to the Saloon and have a talk with the manager. Put a good word in for you. All I want in return... is a little 'favor'."_

_ "NO!" _ __ As soon as she had screamed it, her instincts kicked in. It hadn't taken much effort to whoop the guy's ass. A quick twist of his arm in the wrong direction, a blow to the head, and a swift kick to his knees, and it was over with. She panted, not overexerted but _terrified._ Were those Shinra police going to come arrest her? Was anyone going to do anything? It felt like a hundred people had passed her by, but nobody said a word or even looked in her direction. Tifa walked up the street as if she were in a dream. More men hit on her, but she ignored them, lost in her thoughts. This place was so different from Nibelheim. She didn't like it.

She eventually found her way into a cramped little bar. She wasn't even old enough to drink, but she doubted anyone would care in this place. She was right.

"Hey there, pretty lady. What can I get ya this evenin'?"

She didn't know. "Something _hard._ " Her words came out forcefully.

"Mm, bad day, huh?" the bartender murmured. "Here, top-shelf whiskey for the pretty lady who had a bad day."

Whiskey. She liked it. It made her feel warm and easy and relaxed, despite the multiple sexual assaults she had dealt with in an hour's time. Despite the fact that her home was gone, she had no friends, no family, and nowhere to go. Yeah. She liked whiskey.

"You don't look like you're from around here," the man said.

Tifa took another hearty swig of the drink. "I'm not." Maybe it was the liquor talking, but she felt herself becoming far too honest with the stranger too quickly. "I'm from Nibelheim. But... The whole town burned down. There's nothing there anymore. I was taken to this city by... a friend." Her mind was sober enough to warn her not to tell the man that she knew martial arts. "But he left. I'm all alone here. I've never been to this place before. I have no idea what I'm doing or even where I am."

"Nibelheim..." the man echoed. "Never heard of no place called Nibelheim. Haven't seen anything on the news about a town burnin' down, either..." He scratched the wispy hairs on his chin. "The whole town?" Tifa nodded silently, cursing herself for feeling the sting of hot tears well up in her eyes. How long had it been since it had happened? She wasn't even sure how long she was passed out in the hospital. Had it only been hours? Days? Weeks? She downed the rest of her drink, angrily slamming it on the bar and swiping at her eyes.

"Oh, sweetheart..." the man cooed softly. Tifa wasn't sure why, but she got a different vibe from this man. One that was less intimidating and nowhere near as predatory as the other scumbags she had ran into. "I'm real sorry." It sounded genuine, and for some reason, it unnerved Tifa.

"I gotta go," she said abruptly, standing wobbly on her feet and heading towards the front door of the bar.

"Hey now!" he called after her. "You gotta pay before you can leave, miss. Rules is rules."

Tifa fumbled through her pockets irritably. Two pockets on her skirt, one on her stupid fringe vest.

_ My wallet... Where the fuck is my wallet?! _

Those stupid scumbag doctors had saved her life, but apparently one of them had stolen from her belongings while she was passed out, unconscious in the hospital room.

"I-I don't have any money..." she stammered, suddenly feeling very afraid. She could take this guy, but she was a bit drunk now and she didn't have the mental strength to deal with anymore bullshit. "I'm sorry..."

"Well, honey, you ain't leavin' without payin'." He crossed his arms across his chest.

_ Damn it! If this isn't the worst... _

"Look, you said you ain't got nowhere to go, right?" His tone was questioning, and decidedly non-threatening. Tifa nodded stiffly. "Well, I've been needin' some help around the bar. I'm assumin' you ain't got no job? No place to stay?" Again, Tifa nodded her head stiffly. "Well, why don't you work here for me for a little while? You can wash some dishes to pay off your debt, and if you like, I can teach ya how to work the bar and you can stay here. I need a pretty young thing like you up front, anyway. Brings in more customers." Tifa relaxed her tense shoulders a little, thinking over the offer. At this point, what could it hurt? She had to at least wash dishes to pay off the drink anyway, and this place seemed safer than anywhere else outside. If this guy tried any funny business, she'd just kick his ass.

"Yeah... Okay..." Tifa said, her voice a little shaky and uncertain.

"Great," the man said, smiling. "Let me show ya around the kitchen, and you can go ahead and get to work. I got some other stuff I need to tend to anyways. Oh-" he extended his hand politely, "- the name's Steve."

The brunette took his hand and shook it. "Tifa," she said simply.

Steve nodded. "Strong handshake for a young lady. Come on, follow me."

The afternoon passed by rather quickly. Tifa stayed in the kitchen as a few customers filtered in and out of the bar. She was glad to be out of their sight. She washed all of the dishes, but was appalled by the state of the kitchen. There were old food bits lying around everywhere, the fridge smelled like it needed a deep cleaning, and she swore she saw a rat scamper off into a dark corner.

"Well, look at you," Steve said, entering the kitchen after a few hours and admiring the young woman who was currently on her hands and knees, scrubbing old grease off of the disgusting kitchen floor. "I had a feeling you'd come in handy. Why don't you take a break for a little bit and I'll make ya some dinner?"

"Okay."

Tifa watched as the man pulled out less-than-fresh ingredients from the fridge and the cupboards. He appeared to be making some sort of curry, but the meat didn't smell quite right, and the few vegetables that he was adding looked limp and on the verge of rotting. Tifa wrinkled her nose up, trying her best to keep her mouth shut, but she couldn't resist after she saw the man dump in a heap of salt that would probably ruin the dish.

"If you had better ingredients, you wouldn't need to salt it so much," she stated matter-of-factly.

"Well, little miss Tifa, I don't know about where _you_ come from, but where _I_ come from, which is right here, this is the best you're gonna get. You should be happy I even got fresh vegetables to put in this week."

Tifa frowned. "Can I see it?" she asked, her voice a little more timid this time.

"Be my guest."

She did her best to salvage the meal. She found several spices in the cupboards, including, wouldn't you know it, actual curry powder! She went back to the fridge, disregarding the watchful eyes of Steve, and found an old lemon that hadn't quite gone bad yet, and added a bit of its juice to the stew, as well. After adding in more water and letting some of the liquid evaporate off, she offered to cook up the rice, making it to perfection and pouring the curry mixture over it on two plates.

"Well I'll be damned, if this ain't the best thing I've eaten in years," Steve said through a mouthful of food. "I sure am glad you came in today. You're good at cleanin' _and_ you're a great cook! And with those good looks of yours, I'll be havin' lots of payin' customers in no time!" Tifa looked down, pausing in chewing her food. "That is... If you'd like to stay," the man added. "You're free to go when you're done eatin', if ya like. You've more than paid off your debt."

Tifa was very quiet for a moment. "No... I think I'll stay." Steve smiled, and they ate the rest of their meal in relative silence.

The next few days passed by pretty quickly, as well. Tifa adjusted to living at the 7th Heaven as best as she could. Steve slept in his own little room adjacent to the kitchen, and Tifa had the whole basement to herself. She didn't have much more than a bed, a little dresser, and a few small possessions, as the rest of the room was filled with small machines for brewing and aging bottles of liquor, but she was safe. She had a place to sleep.

"Come on," Steve said one morning. "We're going to town."

"Why?" Tifa asked, pausing in her work of dusting the shelves behind the bar. There was still a lot of heavy cleaning that needed to be done.

"Gonna get you some things. You need some new clothes, maybe some of them 'lady' shampoos or somethin'." He wasn't wrong. Tifa wasn't exactly fond of using the questionable "soap" in the dingy little shower. She didn't even have her own hairbrush, though thankfully she had been able to steal a toothbrush from the hospital room she had stayed in.

"Alright."

Tifa really didn't like being out in town, especially in the streets. Even with Steve by her side, the catcalls and hungry stares never stopped. Her companion's dirty looks didn't scare too many guys away, either. He was a weathered, gangly-looking man, and he wasn't exactly intimidating.

"Here, this shop's pretty good," he said as they walked up to a large, surprisingly well-lit storefront. "The women tend to like it here. I'm sure you'll be able to find what you need."

The store was larger than most of the ones she had seen on their trip through the Sector. _Sector 7_ , she had learned. _7 for 7th Heaven._ She shopped quickly and efficiently while Steve wandered down the few aisles of groceries. "I've got everything I need," she said, finding him looking at the canned vegetables. He took a look at her small basket, modestly filled with toiletries and personal supplies, and not much of anything else. "You didn't find you no new clothes?"

"I got some socks..." she muttered. She had also gotten a few multi-packs of decidedly ugly, cheap underwear, but she didn't want to mention that out loud.

"Well go find you a new outfit, and then come back. You can't stay in that getup all the time. You look like you work at The Wild Horse or somethin'." Tifa felt her face heat up, and she turned and walked away, embarrassed. _Fine, new clothes then_ , she thought to herself. She wasn't really big on shopping, but she guessed Steve was right. The clothes she currently had were incredibly dingy-looking anyway. There were noticeable rips and tears on the garments, and to Tifa's dismay, a large bloodstain that didn't want to come out of her vest, even with bleach.

The brunette felt herself getting frustrated pretty quickly. All of the clothes were thin and barely-there. Did _everybody_ dress scantily in this city? By no means did she have an issue with other women dressing provocatively, and for that matter, she didn't necessarily have an issue dressing herself that way. She had never felt self-conscious about showing skin in Nibelheim, where nobody commented on her appearance other than to say she looked nice or that her outfit was cute. But here, in this dangerous, sleazy city, she was sincerely upset that she couldn't find a nice pair of baggy jeans and an oversized t-shirt.

"Find anythin'?" Steve asked as he walked up behind her, a small basket of food tucked under his arm.

"No," Tifa huffed. "Everything is so skimpy here, I wouldn't feel comfortable wearing any of it."

Steve looked a bit confused. "Well, why not? I mean, the clothes you've got on now are kinda skimpy too, aren't they? What's the difference?"

"The difference is that in Nibelheim, the guys were gentlemen who didn't try to constantly grab at me or look at me like they want to... Want to..." Tifa let out a little growl of frustration, turning her back to Steve and crossing her arms stubbornly, her basket still hanging from the crook of her elbow.

"Wow, you really are a small-town girl, aren't ya?" Steve laughed quietly. "You got a lot to learn about this place, Tifa. The men here may be dogs, but they're _desperate_. And, don't take this the wrong way, but you are one hell of an attractive young woman. There are lots of women out here that aren't anywhere near as pretty as you that use their looks to their advantage. Don't you know what kind of power you could have?"

Tifa didn't turn to look at him. "Let's just go."

Steve shrugged behind her. "Alright, suit yourself."

The catcalls followed her with every step she took on the way back to the bar, but this time, Tifa found herself staring daggers at the men rather than acting shy or embarrassed. "See, that's good, Tifa," Steve said, noticing her change in demeanor. "If you ain't playin' 'em, then you gotta let them know you ain't interested. Some of them like the women feisty, but acting all shy and sweet ain't gonna help your case, that's for sure." Tifa was silent. Maybe he was right.

A few more days passed by swiftly, and Tifa had finally started to truly feel comfortable around the bar. She had cooked the past few night's meals, and they had even sold a few plates, which Steve was ecstatic about. "Yep, I want you cookin' every night, Tifa," he had exclaimed. "We're gonna start sellin' dinner with our drinks!" He must have also noticed the way she was taking to doing things on her own, now, without being told. Restocking the shelves and the cupboards and mopping up every night - things like that. "Feels like you know what you're doin' around here now," he had finally said. "You wanna try bartendin' tonight? I'll clean up in the kitchen and get the food out, you tend to the customers." Tifa had agreed, and quickly discovered that bartending was a fast-paced and hectic job. Steve was absolutely jubilant. "I've never seen so many customers in here before! You're amazing, Tifa!" he had cried, patting his hand down hard on her shoulder before returning to the kitchen.

"Yeah, you _are_ amazing, Tifa," a customer at the bar commented. "Amazing rack, amazing legs, bet you'd be amazing in bed, too." Tifa turned on the spot, facing him and looking dead into his eyes.

"You know what?" she started, feeling red-hot anger boil through her veins. "No. I'm sick of being treated like I'm a piece of fucking meat. So you can just keep your nasty comments to yourself."

The customer stood up, looking very angry and towering over the young bartender. "Hey, bitch, nobody talks to me like that!" His breath was foul and reeked of the liquor she had been serving him. "You hear me?!" he roared. "Nobody, including some slutty little bitch like you!" He grabbed the front of Tifa's shirt, twisting it in his large hand and lifting her off the floor. That was it. She snapped, kneeing him hard in the groin and hitting him with a roundhouse kick to the face as soon as he dropped her. He fell to the ground and looked at her stupidly, spitting out a tooth, before scurrying to get up as Tifa raised her hands in fists and took a defensive stance. The man hightailed it out of the bar, practically crashing through the door to get outside. Tifa looked around with narrow eyes, noticing the dropped jaws of not only the other customers in the bar, but of Steve, as well.

"That's right," she said sternly. "I will be treated with respect, and if anybody wants to fuck with me, that's what's going to happen to you." She turned on her heel, adding to Steve, "I'm done bartending tonight," before retreating into the kitchen to angrily scrub at the dishes.

"Tifa..." He had waited to come into the kitchen until after he had closed up for the night, only stopping at the doorway to take plates of food from the brunette. "That customer probably won't ever come back."

"Good," she said icily.

"Now, look, I understand what you're feelin', but you can't just be scarin' payin' customers off like that-"

"No you don't," she interjected.

Steve crossed his arms, frowning. "I don't what?"

"You don't understand what I'm feeling. You have _no idea_ what I'm feeling." She was still scrubbing at the various pots and pans furiously.

The man sighed in the doorway. "Maybe you're right. But you still can't do that, Tifa. I'm close to goin' out of business already, so I need all the customers I can get. If you do somethin' like that again, I'll have to let you go."

"Fine," she replied curtly. "If you want me to go, I'll leave." She dropped her scrub brush into the sink a bit overdramatically, and pushed past Steve with her shoulder, absolutely livid.

"No!" the man cried. Tifa halted in her tracks. "No," he replied again, more softly. "You've only been here for what, a week? And already you've brought more business than this bar has ever seen..." Tifa unclenched her fists, but didn't turn to look at the bar's owner. "Look, just take it easy tonight, and let's try again tomorrow... Alright?" Tifa nodded silently, still turned away, and stiffly moved towards the little pinball machine in the corner of the bar. _Stupid thing_ , she thought bitterly. _What's so secret about this stupid basement anyway?_ "Goodnight," Steve said as the little elevator started working and took Tifa down to the basement. She didn't say anything in return.

The next day was a test of her patience. She tapped her foot nervously as she waited for the dinner rush to come in, biting off all of her fingernails without even realizing it. "Just try to deal with it this time, okay?" Steve had said. "Laugh it off. Learn to play the guy up. You never know, somethin' good might come out of it." _Something good my ass_ , she thought bitterly. Before long, customers were rushing in. There were a few more than the previous night before, almost all men. Tifa did her best to ignore the stares. Maybe she would be able to become accustomed to them, with enough time. After a while, a drunken man, once again seated at the bar, made the first lewd comment of the night.

"Hey sugartits, you look mighty fine in that little cowgirl outfit of yours. Can you give me a little 'yee-haw'?" Tifa narrowed her eyes at the man, feeling the anger come to the surface instantly. "Come on baby, just one little 'yee-haw'?" he implored.

_ 'Just laugh it off'. _ __ The words echoed in her mind. She didn't like it, but if she wanted to keep her job and the roof over her head...

Tifa faked a smile, and forced out a giggle, before turning away and going to tend another table at the other end of the bar. The man guffawed in response, and Tifa felt like she might throw up. She did her best to ignore it, though, and she smiled at every customer she served. A few other men noticed her "playful" response to the customer, and decided to make their own comments as well.

"Giddy-up, little cowgirl!"

"Heh heh, yeah, save a chocobo, ride a cowboy!"

Tifa was fuming, but she hid her feelings deep inside, forcing out more almost-genuine sounding laughter in response. "You guys are so funny!" she declared, before heading back to work. By the end of the night, to her surprise, the customers had left without trying to grope her, and had left her _substantial_ tips. Tifa held up the three twenty-gil bills in her hand, feeling both nauseous and like she might cry. She felt... _disgusting_.

"See, now look at ya," Steve called from somewhere behind her. "You earned those tips. I told ya somethin' good would come out of it if you just laugh it off. Keep tryin' and you'll have those men eatin' out of the palm of your hand." Tifa didn't say anything, holding back the tears from falling.

_ But... I don't want that... Do I? _

What choice did she have anymore? Tifa was in Midgar now. She was a city girl now. There was no home. There was no Nibelheim. There was this dirty, sleazy city, and this dirty, sleazy bar, and this dirty, sleazy man who was the closest thing to a "friend" that she had. Tifa cried that night, cried hard, curling herself into a little ball and not falling asleep until late in the night. She woke up early, too, earlier than Steve, and she left the bar, carrying her tip money in her vest pocket all by herself.

Catcalls... Catcalls were only catcalls, right? They were only words? Words could be ignored. That's right. She ignored everyone who spoke to her. The only man she gave any attention to was the only man who touched her that morning, a man who pinched her ass as she walked down the street to the store. She turned in an instant and twisted his hand to the point that she probably broke it. She didn't care, though. He ran off and left her alone, crying in pain, and she felt almost evil for the sinister smile that spread across her face. A disturbing surge of power pulsed through her. That's right. She didn't need to walk with Steve, or anyone else down this scary street. She could walk by herself. She could take care of herself.

She arrived at the store, and walked purposefully towards the clothing section. There was another girl shopping there; she was wearing a cropped fishnet top over a black bra, and shorts that were _dangerously_ short. She noticed Tifa, and popped a bubble with the gum she was chewing.

"Hey, girl."

"Y-Yeah?" Tifa responded, strangely feeling very shy in the other girl's presence.

"You're cute. What's your name?"

"Umm... Tifa."

"Cool. My name's Kaycee. Where'd you get your outfit?"

"Oh..." Tifa looked sheepishly at the ground. "...I got it handmade in a small town." She didn't mention the name.

"That's rad. I like it."

"Thanks," Tifa responded, a hint of a bashful smile gracing her lips. She touched the clothes on the nearest rack. They were some strappy things made of thin, shimmery material. She thought they looked gaudy and cheap.

"How old are you?"

Tifa looked back up at the girl, taking note of the rest of her appearance: blue-streaked hair in twin buns, dark eyeliner, strikingly deep, blue lipstick. Nothing like her at all. "I'm fifteen," she said.

"I'm thirteen," Kaycee replied. _Mom would have killed me if I wore that outfit when I was thirteen_ , Tifa thought. _Hell, she'd probably kill me if she saw what I'm wearing now... Or what I'm doing..._ "You from out of town?" the girl asked, breaking Tifa out of her thoughts.

"Yeah," Tifa nodded. "Guess it's pretty easy for people to tell..."

"You just don't look like a 7 girl."

"Huh?" Tifa asked, feeling dumb.

"A 7 girl. A girl from Sector 7."

"Oh..." was all the brunette could respond with. They were both quiet for a moment, and Kaycee went back to looking through the various racks of clothes. "Hey," Tifa said after a minute, pushing herself to be a little courageous.

"Yeah?" the '7 girl' responded, popping her gum again.

"Um... Do you think you could help me pick out an outfit?"

Kaycee looked at her blankly, not saying anything but smacking her gum loudly. Tifa felt nervous again, and for some reason, incredibly stupid in the presence of the younger girl. "It's just that," she continued, filling in the awkward silence, "you're outfit looks really cool, and I'm not very good at picking out clothes, and I'm not from around here so I don't really know what the other girls wear, and... Um..." Just as Tifa was about to mumble out a "never mind", Kaycee simply said, "'Kay."

They looked through the clothes together, both mostly silent except for Kaycee's occasional "What about this?" or "Do you like this?" Tifa shook her head 'no' to everything the Midgar girl suggested. Finally, she stopped smacking her gum, and looked at Tifa pointedly. "What _do_ you like, then?"

Tifa thought for a moment, trying not to feel oddly hurt by the remark. "Um..." she mumbled. "...Plain. Nothing too shiny or gaudy. Natural colors... And..." Tifa clenched her fist without even realizing it. "Something _tough_. Something that says, _'stay away'_..."

Kaycee popped her gum again. "'Kay. Stay right here." Tifa waited awkwardly, and after several minutes of watching the younger girl flit around the store, she returned with a somewhat smug-looking smile on her face. "Try this on."

Tifa went into the dressing room and started pulling on the clothes that the other girl had picked out for her, feeling nervous and self-conscious, but when she looked at herself in the broken mirror...

_ Yeah... I like this... _

Sexy. Yeah, she looked sexy... She guessed that couldn't be helped, but she looked _tough,_ too. The black, leather skirt made her look like a biker babe, and the plain, white tank top made her look like the athlete that she really was. The tough motorcycle boots and moody elbow-length gloves completed the look. Simple. Tough. And decidedly sexy enough to fit into the shithole that was Sector 7. Maybe she _could_ learn to fit into this city. Couldn't she?

"What do you think?" Kaycee asked as Tifa stepped out of the dressing room.

"I like it," she responded, smiling. She paid for the clothes with her tip money, grabbing a belt and a pair of suspenders for good measure before checking out. "Hey..." Tifa said, finding Kaycee now wandering the makeup aisle in the store. "Thanks for your help."

"No prob," the girl responded, not bothering to take her eyes off of the eyeliner she was examining in her hand.

"So, uh... I work at the 7th Heaven," Tifa continued. "It's a little bar a few blocks away from here. Maybe you could come over and hang out sometime?" Kaycee didn't say anything, still smacking her gum loudly. "I mean, I could probably get you free drinks or something..." Well, she probably couldn't, but she wouldn't mind saying so and paying for the drinks herself, if it would give her a chance to have the girl's company.

"Cool," was all the girl said.

"Alright, well, uh... See you around, Kaycee."

"See ya."

Tifa walked back to the bar, feeling a lot better than she had felt on the way there. The people in this place were strange, but if she could make a new friend or two... If she could learn to adapt, learn to fit in, even if she was nothing like these people...

Steve approved of Tifa's new look, and, not to Tifa's surprise, so did the other bar patrons. At the very least, there were no more "cowgirl" comments, except from the few customers that had come in before and had seen her in the getup. She spent the next few days trying her best to be positive. She laughed off every lewd comment, sometimes even daring to joke in return. She also waited patiently for Kaycee to come into the bar, but the girl never came in to see her. It was hard to make friends in Midgar.

Time passed. Days. Weeks. Months. Tifa _was_ adapting. Adapting to an entirely new way of life. The customers hardly bothered her anymore. She brushed off sexual comments with ease, choosing to sometimes turn the comments around on the customer and shooting a witty reply in return. When she was feeling especially gutsy, she would wink at the customers who ogled her, pretending to flirt with the dirty pigs that wanted her so badly. She was beginning to understand, and slowly, the disgusting feelings left her as she made more and more money in tips. It was becoming normal. It was becoming natural. It was becoming a source of _power_ , just as Steve had said it would. These men had no idea that she was truly the one that was in control. She loved taking their hard-earned money sweetly from their grubby hands. She didn't even really care about the cash. She just liked the feeling of _taking_ it from them, making them think she really gave a rat's ass about any of them.

Of course, the more Tifa adjusted to this new way of life, the less it weighed on her mind, and before long, other things were beginning to weigh on her mind, instead. Things that she had repressed while she had struggled to adapt. Things like the death of her father, and the fact that she hadn't really had any time to grieve. Things like the fact that she still hadn't made any friends, unless you counted Steve. Their conversations had slowly reduced to almost nothing, outside of talking about business and cash flow. And things like the fact that she was beginning to feel a deep, pulsing, burning _hatred_ towards... Everything.

She tried to lie to herself, did her best to be an optimist, but _god_ did she hate this city. She hated this city and she hated the people that inhabited it. She hated that it was always dark, that there was no sunlight and no fresh air and no stupid bugs outside biting her legs and making noise in the woods. She hated ignoring the stares and the catcalls that truly had faded into background noise. She hated having to _hurt_ people every time they decided to sexually assault her. She hated how frequently it happened.

She hated that she didn't have her home anymore. She hated that she had to be here. She hated Sephiroth. Oh, how she _loathed_ that man. He was a demon. He was a devil. He was an evil menace to society and he didn't deserve to live. As time went on, Tifa became obsessed with thinking about the silver-haired monster. He consumed her thoughts and he caused her perpetually optimistic smile to turn into a twisted sneer. She stopped taking pleasure in almost everything, even taking money from her detestable customers. Steve had even asked her if she was alright. No. She wasn't alright. She didn't say so, though.

"Who were they?" Tifa had asked Steve one day. It had been over a year since Tifa had begun working at the 7th Heaven, and it was the first time the barmaid had started a conversation with the man in months. He looked at her, surprised, but answered her question. "Members of AVALANCHE."

There were others accompanying him, but the staggeringly huge black man with a gun for an arm had definitely caught Tifa's attention the most. He was scary looking, but not in the same way she had found all the other Midgar men to be scary when she had first started working at the bar. He was scary in a truly dangerous sense.

"What's AVALANCHE?" she asked, wiping down the bar casually.

Steve seemed a little reluctant to say anything. "Some old friends..." he said cryptically. Something was up.

"'Old friends?'" Tifa repeated, cocking an eyebrow at the bar owner.

"And a few new ones, too..." He left to retire to his room, then, earlier than usual. He didn't even help Tifa clean up the rest of the bar.

They were there the next night, too, walking in right when it was about to be closing time. Tifa watched silently as Steve shook each of their hands, greeting them and allowing each of them to step onto the little elevator located underneath the broken pinball machine. Down to "her" room. The giant man looked in her direction, seemingly locking eyes with her, though she couldn't see his eyes behind his thick sunglasses. He nodded once before jumping down into the basement, forgoing using the rickety elevator altogether.

"So, that basement has been some kind of top-secret meeting room the whole time?" Tifa asked in her most casual tone of voice once they left. "Who _are_ those people, Steve? And why are you all having secret meetings in the basement?" Tifa stepped in front of the bar owner, blocking him from going into the kitchen to hide in his room again.

"Look now, Tifa, I don't think you need to be askin' them kind of questions-"

"Well, why the hell not? Are they criminals?"

"Tifa, please-" Steve tried to step around the barmaid, but she held her ground firmly in the doorway.

"I'm not moving until you tell me."

The man sighed irritably. "Why don't you ask them yourself?" He pushed past Tifa roughly. She had to hold herself back from walloping him in the back of the head.

They were back the next night, this time, bringing in what looked like a bunch of technical equipment: computer monitors, radios, and other things that Tifa honestly had never seen before. "Who are you?" Tifa asked the large, one-armed man with sunglasses, obviously the leader of the group. He looked down at her silently.

"Who's askin'?" he replied.

"Tifa Lockhart, bartender."

The hulking man cocked his head. "Well, 'Tifa Lockhart, bartender', that's none of yo business." He then activated the elevator and crossed his arms, watching the brunette silently as he descended into the basement. Tifa kicked a barstool angrily.

That night, she went through their belongings, doing her best to keep quiet and make it look as though nothing had been tampered with or misplaced. She couldn't get any information from the computers, since they were all password-protected. She couldn't find any important documents or paperwork, either. All she discovered was a bunch of useless technical junk. Just looking at all of it pissed her off.

The next night, Tifa caught the name of the AVALANCHE leader, though it came with a price.

"Barret, our computers have been tampered with," a thin, tawny-haired girl had said. The one-armed man slowly turned his head to look directly at Tifa, identity still somewhat hidden behind his sunglasses.

"You touched our computers?" he asked her.

"No," she lied instantly.

The way the man cocked his head almost robotically was honestly terrifying. "Is that so?" he said. It was more of a statement than a question. The hairs on the back of Tifa's neck stood up. She was getting a dangerous vibe, and strong as she was, she did _not_ want to get in a fight with the huge man with a gun for an arm.

"I want to know who you guys are," she said, pushing past her fear. "You've come in every night for days now, bringing equipment down into my room, and Steve's been acting all weird and shady ever since you guys have arrived." Everyone was watching her now, including the bar owner, who hovered in the kitchen doorway. "I don't want to start any trouble with you guys," she added. "I just want to know who you are and what you're doing here."

The large man, Barret, leaned forward slightly, staring Tifa down behind those dark glasses. "You really want to know who we are?" he asked. "Prove to us that we can trust you." With that, he activated the little elevator and stood, arms-crossed, just as he had the night before as he descended down into the basement once again. The others followed behind him, the one pudgy guy sort of shrugging in an "I'm sorry" gesture.

Tifa spent the next few days doing everything in her power to make these 'AVALANCHE' people trust her. She cooked extra food every night, presenting it along with beers she had paid for out of her pocket to the members of the group. She also hounded Steve to give her more information, but he refused. She even cleaned up the basement, making more room for their various items that were slowly taking over "her" room. One night, Tifa watched in confusion, and for a moment, fear, as Barret carried in a very young girl on top of his large shoulders. She was small and white with short brown hair. She couldn't be any older than two or three years old.

"This is my daughter, Marlene," Barret said to Tifa. She couldn't hide the surprise that flitted across her face. This man, this huge, scary, intimidating man had adopted a little girl? "Can you watch her for a little bit while we have our meeting?"

"Yeah," Tifa said, taken aback that Barret had even talked to her and still in shock that _he_ had a little daughter.

"Thank you," the man said curtly, lifting the toddler off of his shoulders and passing her to Tifa's arms. Tifa liked watching Marlene. She was quiet and shy, and she liked cuddles. Barret came up an hour later, finding Tifa and Marlene seated in a booth, drawing on separate papers with crayons. Tifa was coloring a badly-drawn picture of her hometown mountains that she missed dearly, and Marlene was creating a mildly impressive scribble that vaguely resembled Barret.

The large man scooted into the booth across from Tifa and Marlene, accidentally pushing the table towards them in the process. "We fight for the Planet." Tifa looked up curiously. He was really going to tell her? "We fight against Shinra because they keep suckin' up all the Mako from the Planet with their reactors. It's killin' the Planet. She needs our help." Tifa blinked. That's all?

"...Why do you guys have to be so secret about that?"

Barret sighed, finally removing his sunglasses and showing her his weathered eyes. He looked directly at her. It was slightly unnerving. "We don't always play by the rules."

"Oh..." So maybe they did do some illegal things. Surely they couldn't be that bad, though.

"Steve told me you're a strong fighter. You're good at martial arts. We're always lookin' for new members to join us in our fight." Tifa's eyes widened. He was asking her to _join_ them? Really!?

"I-I don't know..." she sputtered out.

"Think about it," he replied. "And thanks for watchin' little Marlene." He picked the toddler up, taking a look at her drawing and, to Tifa's surprise, smiling as he did so. "Cute", he said more to himself than aloud. Tifa watched him as he gathered the other members of AVALANCHE and left the 7th Heaven, still stunned by his offer.

"Well, you feel better now?" Steve asked from the other end of the bar. "Now you finally know. And he even asked ya to join."

"Steve..." Tifa stood up from the booth, turning to face the man. "Does AVALANCHE do anything... illegal?"

The bar owner gave her a funny look. "Don't we _all_ do illegal things sometimes, Tifa?" He retreated to his room without another word.

The next few weeks were strange, to say the least. Steve had started leaving the bar during the daytime, letting Tifa run it completely on her own. Dozens of confusing thoughts and feelings swam around the brunette's mind as she tended to running the business. These AVALANCHE people had really caught her attention. They were even distracting her from her usual angry thoughts about her past. If they really were so against Shinra... Then maybe she _should_ join them. After all, Shinra created SOLDIERs, and Sephiroth was the best SOLDIER of them all. Though, she reminded herself, maybe _all_ SOLDIERs weren't so bad...

But still, Shinra had created _this_ place. This gigantic, disgusting, terrifying, deplorable city. A city with no sunshine, no fresh air, no wild flora or fauna or rivers or lakes or anything Tifa had loved before in Nibelheim. And what Barret had said about the reactors... Were they really killing the Planet? Were they really killing everything Tifa had loved about her hometown?

Steve had been gone for three days straight, now, but the AVALANCHE team continued to come into the bar every night. "Have you decided yet?" Barret had asked her. She shook her head 'no', returning to plating dinners for each of the team members, including Marlene. Her head just wasn't in the right place anymore. Even her most rude customers hadn't been able to rile her up.

The bar owner had finally returned late at night, hours after Barret and his crew had left. Tifa heard him walking on the old wooden floorboards above her room. She came up from the pinball lift, looking at the back of Steve's head but saying nothing. He knew she was there.

"So... I'm leavin'," he said, sighing heavily. "For good."

Somehow, Tifa had had a feeling that he would. "Why?" she asked simply. Her tone was plain and questioning.

"Let's just say I got into a little trouble... Owe a few people some debts... It's okay, though. I got enough money to live off of for the rest of my life, now." He laughed to himself quietly.

"Is it because of AVALANCHE?" Tifa asked.

Steve turned around to face her, then, shaking his head. "No, no... Them AVALANCHE folks may look scary, but they're good people, really... They're fightin' the good fight." He stepped closer to her. "Tifa, I'm leavin' the 7th Heaven to you. She's yours to do with as you please. Sell her, tear her down, live in her 'til you get old and die, I don't care. If ya don't mind, though, I hope you'll let AVALANCHE keep using this place as a base for a little while longer." He extended his hand to her, holding the keys to the bar, and dropped them in her hand. "You're a fine young woman. Strong. Smart. You'd do good joinin' 'em." He walked out of the bar, carrying nothing but a small duffel bag, only pausing to nod before leaving. Tifa didn't yell for him to wait. She just sat at the bar and poured herself a shot of whiskey.

"Where's Steve?" Barret had asked the next night. There were still a few drunk customers in the bar. Tifa let them stay later than closing time.

"He left."

Barret made a noise that sounded closer to a growl than anything. "Figured he would..." He adjusted a soundly sleeping Marlene in his arms, taking a look at the few customers left at the bar. "Ain't it close to closin' time?" he asked, his voice implying that he wasn't pleased that the bar wasn't empty. The rest of the AVALANCHE members had seated themselves in a booth, doing their best to look like normal customers. Tifa turned her back to him, walking around the back of the bar.

"Alright guys, drink up. I've already let you stay later than last call."

"Aww, but I like stayin' here, baby," one of the customers slurred. "I could just drink and look at you all night." Tifa smiled at the man, pushing his glass towards him.

"That's sweet, but I'm afraid I'm really gonna have to send you home. You can always come back and see me tomorrow," she added with a wink.

The man grinned broadly. "Who could refuse a sweet smile like that... Alright, lemme just finish up..." He downed the rest of his drink, dropping a wad of gil on the table and motioning to his friends once he finished. "Come on guys, let's go..."

One of the men got up, but the other stayed seated. He was giving Tifa _that_ look, _that_ look that she had learned meant trouble. She leaned over, purposefully showing a bit of her ample cleavage. "Come on now, I need you to leave the bar so that I can close up. Okay?" She smiled the sweetest fake smile the world had ever seen. "Pretty please?"

Her reflexes were far too fast for his slow, drunken attempt to grab her breasts. She pressed down both of his pinky fingers - innocent enough, but incredibly painful. He howled in pain, and she relented, still holding his hands tightly. "Nuh-uh," she chided playfully. "You know the rules: you can look, but you can't touch. Now please leave before I have to put you in even more pain." The man nodded stupidly, and followed his friends out of the bar, stumbling out the front door. Tifa looked at Barret, who had an unusual expression on his face. "I've decided," she declared. "I'd like to join AVALANCHE to fight for the good of the Planet."

Tifa had learned a long time ago that she could use her attractiveness to her advantage, but she'd also learned that she could use her strength to her advantage as well. Maybe she'd need to get some armor to go on top of her skimpy outfit.


End file.
